Cold Comfort
by bornatexasgirl
Summary: Simple allergies? Hardly. When Nell Jones comes down with a cold while working a case, Callen is there to take her home and make sure she is taken care of. Unabashedly and thoroughly Nallen.
1. Allergen

The house is a corpse.

Rotting gutters, old rust-colored brick crumbling off into soft top-soil, and grimy, yellow windows. Layers of dust on cotton curtains; the kind her grandma hung with the country blue patterns and depictions of watering cans and strawberries and sunflowers and fluffy brown rabbits. The smell of decay and hot moisture is rancid in the walls of white plaster and ugly beige wallpaper that seems fitting for such a house. The rooms are dim and hot and just walking through the house leaves her with sweat beading her hairline.

"Can you breathe?"

His concern is touching.

Not really.

A shift of red hair and the snap of a mask as it slips over her face is the only answer he'll be receiving tonight. Well, lovely. Sometimes he thinks _he_, of all people, cares about her health and well-being more than she does. Her eyes battle between swelling completely shut or turning into puffy, red dots barely distinguishable as eyes. Her face contorts in a sneeze behind the mask. He laughs. She glares. Sam snickers, from somewhere behind them.

Sneezes, again. Sniffles.

Damn allergies.

Sam presses a tissue into her gloved hand. "There's Benadryl in the car."

"I'm fine, Sam. Just allergies." Nell brushes the tissue over her nose. "There's a hide-out in the left wall and - _achoo!_"

"Bless you."

Enter Kensi and Deeks, stage right. Great. Deeks is staring at her in a way that makes her slightly uncomfortable and Kensi is slowly circling the perimeter of the room. The hide-out turns out to be an arsenal full of weapons with varying degrees of lethality. She continues to sneeze behind her mask and Callen only laughs once.

(He needs his shin to run.)

They brought her out in the field because of her Sherlock-like ability to snuff out the make-or-break details that they might miss. So far, all that this has snuffed out are her severe allergies. The house is gorgeous, Southern plantation style, all white-washed stone and marble. Sprawls out across acres of emerald grass still sparkling with the dewy sheen of daybreak. Only problem is, it hasn't been kept in years since the previous owner, Louisiana-born Verna Washington, passed away in the nursing home three miles back. Dust settles in layers, nothing to sweep it away, and no open windows to wick away the damp heat of California summers.

"How did a place like Washington Manor turn into a hide-out for Russians?"

Good question, Deeks.

"Plenty of hiding spots. They could squat here for weeks at a time, no one would know." Sam explains calmly, paying careful attention to his partner. For his seemingly cold attitude toward a case, Callen could be far more affected than he ever let anyone see.

"What's so special about this house, though?" Callen questions, tapping along the invisible center line of one wall, listening for the sound of something behind it. "It belonged to an unassuming Southern-born grandmother."

"Kensi, Deeks, take upstairs, I'll take downstairs." Sam directs Callen's attention to Nell. "You take her home. I'll call Hetty, explain."

"Sam, I'm fine." she protests, almost angrily.

"Nell, your eyes are red and you've been sneezing since you walked in." he's not having it. "Go home."

"Fine." Nell crosses her arms over her chest.

Callen hides a snicker behind a cough, and a response that's a little strained. "C'mon Nell. Let's go home."

The feisty red-head tries to glare but there is no power behind it; not with her puffy, red eyes. His palm is warm around her elbow, guiding her to the front door and away from the house. It doesn't take but a few minutes for her misery to catch up with her and when it does, she immediately realizes how itchy her eyes and nose are and how much she'd like a glass of cold water for her throat. Or hot tea with lemon and honey. Whichever one would work best.

Hetty would say tea.

She curls into the seat of the SUV, drawing her knees up, and resting her forehead on the cool glass of the passenger side window.

"Nell?"

"I'm fine, Callen."

His eyebrows arch sharply at that, because she certainly doesn't sound fine. He says nothing more, instead choosing switch lanes and focus on the road, waiting for the inevitable, and pretending not to laugh when she shrugs out of her cardigan. The Ops room she spent most of her days in may have been the coldest room in the building, but California summers could be wicked. He turns the air conditioner to a cooler setting, and reaches across the center console to take her hand.

"Callen." a sigh of his name but she still laces her fingers with his.

Nell wants to protest when he pulls into his driveway - wants to sass that she's not sick, that she's perfectly capable of handling allergies - but her eyes itch and her mouth is terribly dry and she'd very much like to lay down, for a few minutes, if only to stop the light feeling in her head. Instead, she lets him guide her in with a hand on the small of her back, and makes her way to his couch. It's a recent addition; a buttery cognac leather, overstuffed, and overtaking almost a whole wall. He disappears into the kitchen while she makes herself comfortable on the couch.

She's almost asleep when he reappears with a hot cup of tea and a bottle of water.

Sweet man.

* * *

**Up next: fluffy Nallen cuddly goodness! This will be a two-shot because my muse got away from me. Also...look up Buddy Threadgoode for a glimpse at young Chris O'Donnell...isn't he precious? I just wanna squeeze and cuddle and kiss his cute face! Alas, he has five kids and a wife. Anywho, leave me some love dolls. **

**Love, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove **

**P.S. Child of Loki, if you're reading this, you simply must know that I miss your presence on my Tumblr. Just not the same without you, darling. Hope to talk to you soon! **


	2. Of Books, Tea, and I Love You in Russian

"Hey," she is vaguely aware of him kneeling beside her, rubbing tender circles on her back with his hand. "Nell, hey, you awake?"

"Hmm, yep." groggy, and slightly disoriented, but yes, she is awake. "Thirsty."

"Water or tea?" Callen tilts his head in the direction of the beverages on the floor at his feet.

"Water," Nell nods, slowly pushing herself into a sitting position, leaning one side against the back of the couch with her legs stretched out in front of her. "Hetty would say tea but my throat says water."

He bends down and retrieves the bottle of water from the floor where it had been sitting by the now tepid cup of green tea with lemon and honey, giving the cap a quick twist before handing it to her. And, okay, so he hadn't bought a coffee table yet. He's still figuring out how this whole living in an actual house thing is supposed to work. Nell wants to laugh but the light feeling in her head persists; the water, at least, calms the hell-fire burning her throat.

Callen settles on the cushion at her feet, slipping her boots off and much to his amusement, when he tugs one off of her, she wiggles her ankle and toes. He squeezes her foot and traces his thumb along its graceful arch before moving on to the other foot and repeating the process.

"You should go back to Ops. I'll be fine." she rasps, twisting the cap back onto the plastic bottle.

"Sam called Hetty." Callen absently rubs her leg, from the top of her foot to her knee. His hand is warm and rough and his touch is tender and it feels good, soothing, almost hypnotizing.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

"Hetty let you out of a case for me?" Nell's sleepy voice is skeptical. "G..."

"You aren't expendable to Hetty, Nell." Callen explains softly, his fingers curling around and pressing into her calf muscles. "She said that if you need to be at home, then I should be at home with you."

"Hmm. Callen - "

"Do you want me to defy Hetty's orders?" Callen interrupts, eyebrow arching heavenward.

"No," Nell shakes her head. Oh. Bad idea. Terrible idea. She pauses for a moment, waiting for the dizziness to pass before managing a genuine smile of gratitude. "I was going to say thanks."

He wants to tell her that she shouldn't thank him. Wants to say that he likes taking care of her, likes that she's willing to let him take care of her, but he doesn't want to make her uncomfortable. Even if the way she says thanks makes it sound like he's obligated to do so. "You know, you should probably eat something." Callen suggests, hoping like hell she'll eat, even though it seems unlikely. "I could order some chicken soup from that cafe you like. Have Kensi or Sam stop by and get it. I'll even get them to take the carrots out."

"I'm fine, Callen." Nell insists hoarsely. "I'm not hungry."

"Nell..."

"G, I'm just not hungry." Nell manages a weak smile.

"Okay." Callen concedes because he knows this is one battle, he's not likely to win.

Her eyes flick around his living room, coming to rest on the pile of books next to the fireplace. There's a copy of To Kill A Mockingbird, a few Russian books she'd never heard of, and a worn copy of War and Peace balanced precariously on top. He follows her gaze to his small but still impressive collection, and stands up to retrieve one. He shuffles through them and plucks one of his favorites from the stack. Book in hand, he makes his way back to the couch.

"To Kill A Mockingbird," the faded black print is barely visible but the tree on the cover is recognizable. "I thought you'd go for War and Peace."

"Not really feeling Russian, today." Callen winks at her, flipping the book open.

Without need of instruction, she shifts closer to him, curling into his side with her head on his shoulder and her arms wrapped around one of his. His hand rests on her knee as he flips through the pages, looking for the dog-earred page from the last time he read this book. It had been a couple of nights ago, on the tail-end of their last case, when they had finally been able to leave Ops for more than just the time it took to shower and change.

"_I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway, and see it through no matter what..." _His voice, soft and calm, soothes her, lulling her into a drowsy state, just on the cusp of sleep. Eyelashes flutter, drooping eyelids heavy with the weight of sleep. Her breathing is deeper, a little more even, except for the slight rattle of congestion in her chest.

"How about we move this party to the bed?" his book falls closed and he sets it aside, focusing his attention on Nell.

"'kay." Nell slurs, groggy and slightly disoriented. She stubbornly pushes his hands away when he moves to pick her up, sitting up with a slight sway and the insistence that she "can walk."

"I don't think so." It doesn't take much for him to scoop her up, given she weighs next to nothing, and he is not inexperienced when it comes to the fine art of carrying Nell. When he cradles her to his chest, he isn't surprised when her stubbornness gives way to a vulnerability, and she sinks further into him and drifts off.

"Stay with me?" she murmurs into his t-shirt, arms wrapped lazily around his frame.

"Yes, Nell." he presses a kiss into her hair as he tucks her into his bed.

She nearly disappears underneath the blue and gray quilt that he keeps on his bed, snuggling further into the soft fabric. He kicks his shoes off and nudges them under the bed before climbing in beside her. She's soft and warm and vulnerable when she burrows into his arms, her red hair the only visible part of her. Despite the fact that G. Callen is a perpetual insomniac, he stays there with her, holding her while she sleeps in relative peace, even with her terrible allergies.

And, when she wakes later, he'll have called Deeks to bring some of that chicken soup she likes (no carrots) and a thermos of fresh Hetty-made tea, and he'll dig a shirt out for her to wear and he'll continue reading To Kill A Mockingbird while she eats and drinks her tea. She'll shower and wear his shirt to bed and when he curls around her, he'll smell his soap on her and his shampoo in her hair and it'll make him smile.

As she drifts off to sleep, she'll swear she hears him say, _"I love you", _in Russian.

_"__Я люблю тебя__." _


End file.
